


Eight Years to Life

by LetheAfterDark (LetheSomething)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Breaking Up & Making Up, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Large amounts of literature references, Like really rather fluffy smut no lie, Medium Burn, Pining, Proposals and life troubles in general, Wall Sex, bet you didn't expect that in an Aomine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-14 02:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14760497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetheSomething/pseuds/LetheAfterDark
Summary: This is an Aomine love story, written out in a series of vignettes, small scenes spanning several years. Because, while Aomine isn't stupid, heisvery dense.A post-canon fic, starting in the second year of high school.Medium burnFemale reader





	1. Baseline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thekuroiookami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekuroiookami/gifts).



> Short note: this is extremely indulgent and will at times be quite explicit.

_Sometimes love takes a while._  
_For your parents, as they tell the story, it happened instantly._  
 _A look, a smile and they were on their way to a lifetime of happiness._  
 _Not so for you._  
 _Love didn't happen in a flash, but in a series of small steps, a meandering trail up a mountain, a path picked carefully between rocks and crevices, at times easy and sunny, at times treacherous and dark._  
 _But once you reach the top, the view is amazing._  


 

_**Year one** _

“I need your help.”  
Momoi Satsuki plopped down on the chair in front of your desk and pouted.

You'd known her since you started high school over a year ago and it was long enough to understand that this particular pout meant she needed a huge favor.  
“Yes, Satsuki-san?” you said with a knowing smile.

“You know how you're awesome at English and Physics?” she started.

You raised an eyebrow at your friend.  
“Do you need help with homework?”  
That was new. Satsuki's grades had always been fine, especially since she spent so much of her time explaining the subjects to...  
Oh no.

Your friend bit her lip and looked up at you with the biggest puppy eyes you'd ever seen, large pink irises tugging at your heart strings.  
“Dai-chan... Aomini-kun needs a tutor,” she started.

“Satsuki, nooooo.”  
It was one thing to help someone who had trouble understanding the material, but from what you'd heard, the jock Momoi hung out with wasn't that dumb. He just didn't particularly care to do any work, whatsoever.

“It's only for Physics and English!” she continued, flinging herself across your desk.  
“I helped him through his first year, but the material has really gotten harder now and it's becoming a bit much,” she said. “It's only the two subjects, I swear.”

“Please no.”

“I'm busy with the team and everything. And you're SO good at them,” the girl babbled on.

“Oh come on, Satsuki,” you whined.

“He really needs your help, __! If his grades don't improve, he won't be allowed to play in the Interhigh championship. It'll be a _disaster_ ,” she said, with a slight flair for the dramatic: “Touou Academy needs you! We have no hope of winning without him! Especially with the old captain gone and the teams they're facing this year being so strong. _He needs to play_. And for that he needs to keep his grades up.”

 

You pinched the bridge of your nose.  
“Satsuki, as much as I would appreciate our basketball team winning the championship, your ace is lazy, and rude, and has an ego the size of Tokyo. How the hell am I going to teach him anything?”

“You could always wear a low-cut shirt,” Satsuki muttered.

“Are you serious?” you railed, getting up from your seat.

She grabbed your wrist and held on for dear life.  
“I'm joking __-chan! He'll behave, I promise. He doesn't like studying, but not being able to play is a lot worse.”  
You sat back down, grumbling.  
“Please?” Satsuki said, fluttering her wide, pink eyes at you.

You sighed. “Fine, I'll try to help Aomine-kun through his exams. Just this once.”

 

 

_**Year one** _

You walked into the library after class, thumbing through the stack of papers Satsuki had given you. She'd actually compiled a list of his strong and weak points when it came to subject matter, complete with chapters that he needed to review extra thoroughly.  
Most of his issues on English seemed to concern grammar.

To your surprise, Aomine was actually there, as promised.  
The boy sat at a table in the reading area, head in one hand, idly playing with his phone.  
His blue hair was ruffled and his eyes a little puffy, as if he'd just woken up. Knowing the rumours about him, that might actually be the case.  
You sat down at the table in front of him. “Good afternoon, Aomine-kun.”

He looked up. “You __?”

You nodded. “Satsuki-san asked me to help you with Physics and English,” you said.

“Yeah, she sucks at those,” he snorted.

“Not as much as you, Aomine-kun,” you replied, laying some of his old tests down on the table. There was more red than black.  
The boy sighed.  
“Let's get started, shall we?” you said, shooting him a small smile.

 

Trying to teach Aomine Daiki was... an experience, certainly.  
There was a lot of whining, for one.  
It also involved sometimes shoving his shoulder to keep him from dozing off.  
At one point he disappeared 'to go to the bathroom', and you found him 15 minutes later in the back of the library, reading a gravure magazine.  
“Aomine-kun? You insufferable perv! Are you kidding me?”

“What? I need a break!” he pouted, “I'm not some smartypants like you. My head starts hurting fast.”

“Tell you what,” you said, sighing, “You come back and finish those two pages of exercises, and then we can both take a damn break.”

He squinted at you suspiciously. “Is this some sort of trick?”

“Why would it be a trick?” you said, tugging him upright by his shoulder, “I need a drink after dealing with your whinging for an hour.”  
He snorted, but followed silently, hands deep in his pockets, while you walked back to your spot.

 

After finally finishing his exercises, Aomine groaned and dropped his head onto the table, laying there motionless while you checked them over.  
“Hmmm, not bad, I guess,” you said eventually.

“That's enough for today, yeah?”

“When's your next English test?” you asked, scanning the page he'd filled in again.  
His handwriting was sloppy and lazy, but most of these were correct. You didn't really see the issue.

“Next week,” he said.

“Alright, then we'll do Physics tomorrow.”  
You stood up to the sound of gagging noises.  
“I'm sorry? Did you say something?” You peered at him pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled. “You have some attitude, lady,” he said.

“Again, Aomine-kun,” you replied, packing up your things, “not as much as you.”

 

 

_**Year One** _

You walked into the library the next day with a new stack of Physics exercises under your arm, to find that Aomine was not there.  
With a frown, you looked between the racks, and in the corner where you'd found him before.  
Nothing.

You dialed his phone number, graciously provided to you by Satsuki.  
It rang, six times, and switched to voice mail.  
Getting annoyed, you texted Momoi, who almost immediately replied with a small itemized list of places where he might hang out if he was dodging class or, in this case, private tutoring.  
Number one: the school roof.

 

“Ah, shit,” he mumbled when you came huffing up the ladder.

“Don't you 'ah shit' me,” you puffed, collapsing onto the roof.

“Did Satsuki send you?”

“She is the one who begged me to help you, yes,” you said, pulling a soda out of your school bag, “Meanwhile, you bail on me to go sun bathing.”

He grunted. “I hate Physics,” he said, laying back down with his arms crossed underneath his head.

“Huh, that's weird,” you said, taking a sip from your soda.

“It's really not,” he answered.

“But you play basketball!” you said. “That's all physics: the speed of a moving object, wind resistance, the arc of the ball, gravity affecting the dribble...”

Aomine gave you a deadpan look.  
“Are you trying to ruin basketball for me, __?”

“I'm trying to make physics interesting for you,” you said, smirking at him.

He sat up, face contorted into a pout.  
“Well don't. If I'm going to think about calculations every time I try to take a shot I'd be... well I'd be Midorima, but he sucks.”

“Who's Midorima?” you frowned.

“Never mind that,” he said, “What I mean is, I'm not about to calculate gravity when I'm on the court. I don't need any of this to play ball.”

“Except for the bit where you need to pass your tests to be allowed in matches,” you pointed out.

He groaned.  
“If I come down and make your exercises or whatever, will you stop trying to ruin my sport?”

“I promise,” you said.

“Fine, let's get this over with.”

 

 

_**Year One** _

“I'm sorry!”  
You were walking towards the cafeteria to grab some lunch when one of Aomine’s classmates approached you, together with a rather intimidating blond man.

“Sakurai-kun. Hey,” you said, waving. “What’s up?”

“Ah __-san,” he said when he reached you, “I'm so sorry to interrupt you.”

The blond man next to him walked over in two swift strides and stood in front of you, glaring slightly. You blinked up at him. He was almost as tall as Aomine.  
“You __-san? I'm gonna need your idiot.”

“My... what?”

“__-san, I'm so sorry,” Sakurai said, bowing slightly, “this is Wakamatsu-senpai, the captain of the basketball team.”

“Ohhhh,” you said, realization dawning on you.

“We're having a training match next Friday, and the dumbass needs to come. Momoi said we should schedule something,” Wakamatsu rumbled.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Sakurai added.

You lifted your eyebrows at the unlikely pair and slowly pulled your calendar out of your bag.  
“Mmm, he has an English test on Thursday,” you said, and Sakurai nodded.  
“So I would really like to go over things with him on Wednesday, and maybe an extra hour on Tuesday? Then you can have him all Friday. Would that work for you, captain?”

You looked up to find the captain blatantly staring at you.  
He coughed.  
“Sure, we can, uh, do that,” he said, averting his eyes.

“Great!”  
You jotted the new schedule down. “I'll send everything to Satsuki-san as well, just to make sure.”

“Good. Yes,” Wakamatsu said.

 

Just then, something bumped into Sakurai, causing him to sway and let out another “I'm sorry!”  
A long arm lazily draped itself over his shoulder and Aomine's face appeared.  
“What's this? Wamakatsu's trying to flirt with my teacher?” he drawled.  
“You know she's taken, yeah?” he continued, while the captain geared up to shout at him.

“We're just going over your schedule,” you smiled.

He squinted at you.  
“My schedule?”

“For training and studying,” you nodded, “because of a training match next week.”

“Wait, don't I get a say in this?” he scoffed.

“No,” was the very firm answer of Wakamatsu, who had apparently decided to swallow whatever shouting match he was preparing, and instead walked off with clenched fists.

“What an interesting man,” you found yourself saying.

“Oh, I'm sorry if he seemed rude,” Sakurai said, “He's really not as bad a it looks.”

“Yes he is,” Aomine said, poking his pinky in his ear, “He's a prick.”

You smiled your mild smile at the both of them, while Sakurai apologized, again, for Aomine's rude language.  
“We should probably get back to class,” the smaller boy added.

“Yeah, and you were gonna let me copy your Biology notes,” Aomine said.  
“I... did?” Sakurai asked, but Aomine was already shoving him down the hallway.  
“See ya later, sensei,” he waved.

You lifted an eyebrow at his retreating form. “Sensei?”

 

“Well, aren't you miss popular.”  
Your boyfriend came up behind you and laid a hand on your shoulder.

“Everyone on that basketball team is completely insane,” you muttered.

“No one's forcing you to deal with them, hun,” he said.

“Satsuki kinda is.”

“So tell her to shove it,” he grinned widely at you while you sighed.  
As if you would ever do something like that.  
“Anyway, there's this café I've been meaning to take you...” he whispered in your hair while his fingers trailed down your arm.

Blushing, you sprung away.  
“Dude, we're in a school hallway!”

“So I'm walking you home tonight, yeah?”

You looked up to see his smug, pretty face still locked in a mischievous grin.  
You'd fallen head-first for that grin. With a nod, you hurried off to class.

 

 

_**Year One** _

“So you are coming to see the match next week, right, __-san?”

You were seated at your desk, trying to get some last minute reading in for Japanese while also shoving food into your mouth, when a pink storm entered the room.  
Blinking, you looked up into the excited pink irises of Satsuki.  
“Eh?” You picked up a meatball and shoved it into your mouth.

“The training match! You have the time, right?” Satsuki continued, “Because no lessons! It's against a good team, too. Please come, I promised the guys they'd meet you. It'll be fun!”  
She was bouncing a little now.

“Mrfl?”  
Shocked, you swallowed down your food and nearly choked.  
“What, what?”

Satsuki gave you her innocent look.

“You promised them what?” you said, coughing.

“They wanted to know who you were,” she said, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.  
“Who is the witch that manages to get Aomine to study?” she mimicked a heavy voice, “So I showed them your picture. They were pleasantly surprised and now they want to meet you.”

“Satsukiiii,” you whined.

“Consider it an equal exchange! He's been going to your turf, the library, and now you can see him in his element.”  
She smiled brightly at you.

“Do I... want to?” you asked.

“Hey, it means you'll see what you're doing all this for! You're working hard for the basketball team and you don't even know how good they are.”

“I kinda trust you on that one, Satsuki,” you muttered.

“So Friday, yeah? See you there!”  
She gave you a thumbs up and walked off before you could protest.

 

On her way out, she nearly bumped into your boyfriend, who dodged, and then walked over with a suspicious frown on his face.  
“What was that all about.”

You told him about the match, and his frown grew deeper.

“Are you insane? That's like the one day we have time to go on a date!” he pouted.

“And that's why you I'm asking you to come with me!” you said, tugging at his sleeve, “We'll watch a game together, and then we can go get a drink or something. I will treat you to ice cream.”

He grumped at you and you gave him the puppy eyes.  
“Gyms are smelly and loud,” he said, “why would you even...”

“School spirit,” you countered. “Apparently they're really good and I've been told I should watch the game so I know what I'm doing all the tutoring for.”

“I can't believe you got roped into it that easily. Since when do you care about sports?” he said.

“Just one match. Please?”  
You pushed out your bottom lip.

“That's like the least romantic place we can go,” he huffed.

You fluttered your eyelashes.

“Stop that,” he said, suppressing the beginning of a smile, “Do what you want, I'm sitting this one out.” He started walking away.

“Aww, come on, we're just supporting friends! It's for the benefit of the school!”

He just waved you off.

 

 

_**Year One** _

You sat in the library in front of your Physics Theory book, aimlessly drumming your fingers on the desk.  
Your boyfriend had been grumpy for several days now, which only steeled your resolve to go watch this stupid match.  
As if giving you the cold shoulder was actually going to make you give in.  
The very thought of him even trying that tactic was pissing you off.  
You pouted into the middle distance, deep in prickly thoughts, when a long arm reached out and booped your forehead with the eraser side of a pencil.  
“Oi,” you said, taken aback.

“You're zoning out, sensei.”  
Aomine was looking at you with a curious expression.

You sat up, shaking your head to clear away the thoughts.  
“Did you finish your exercises?”  
He thrust a paper at you and leaned back in his chair, looking awfully pleased with himself.  
After grading, he had about six in ten correct.  
“Hmm, it'll get you a pass, but it's not great...” you said hesitantly, and he was already rising from his seat.  
“What are you doing?”

“Getting out of here,” he said. “You just said I can pass with this.”

“Barely,” you huffed. “Don't you want to aim for a little bit higher than 'just passing'?”

“Fuck no. This is good enough.”

“Good enough?”

“Yes, good enough,” he said, exasperated, “That's what we're going for.”

“Since when?” you felt your own voice rising.

“Since English,” he nearly shouted it, getting worked up now.

“Shhhhhhh!” someone two rows away hissed.

“No _you_ shush!”  
The both of you stage-whispered it at the same time.

You looked at him, blinking, before suppressing a giggle.  
“Aomine-kun,” you said, softly, “how about one more round of exercises, and then we'll get ice cream. My treat?”

He rolled his eyes and sat back down, sighing as if he was walking into the very depths of hell.  
“Why are you always trying to goad me into 'just one more round' of exercises?”

“Because it works, Aomine-kun.”

 

“You know, I used to get these when I was little,” he said as the two of you walked out of the convenience store an hour later. “Me and Satsuki, and later me and a bunch of other friends. If you get a special prize on the stick, you can have a new one for free.”  
In his hand was a double ice pop, blueberry flavoured.  
He had insisted on paying for it, too, despite your protests.

“It's hard to imagine you ever being little, Aomine-kun,” you said, as you watched him break the thing in two and give you half.

“Ok, so younger,” he grumbled. “And about a head shorter.”

“Did you play then?” you asked, happily sucking on ice.

“I've always played,” he said. “started when I was legit small, like five years old.”  
He held his hand out, up to his waist.

“I bet that was adorable,” you said, grinning.

He grunted and bit off a piece of ice.  
“So Satsuki tells me you're coming to the game”

“Mmm,” you hummed. “Might as well.”

“You've never seen one, huh,” he said.

“Nope, don't know the first thing about basketball”, you said.

“Should be interesting,” he said. “Not as fun as playing, but you know.”

“We'll see,” you said.

 

 

_**Year one** _

If you were honest with yourself, you were pretty nervous entering the gym.  
Aomine may have looked out of place in a library, but you felt incredibly alien in a gym, both during and outside of PE classes.  
But at least you could follow the crowd.

You'd tagged along with some people in your year. Officially, this was a test match, but the team they were playing was supposed to be a real challenge, the kind of team they might meet at the regionals, so a lot of fans had showed up anyway.

The Touou basketball team was considered kind of a big deal at your school.  
You knew this already, thought you’d never felt it quite this pressingly before.  
Athletes would come from halfway across the country to play at this school and some of those didn’t even make it to the first string.  
Meanwhile you had chosen Touou because it was close to your house.

Someone wrapped a shirt with your school logo around your shoulders and you drifted along, following your friends into the stadium.  
Inside, it felt like pandemonium. There was a lot of murmuring and shouting. Excitement was almost palpable in the air, like someone’s heavy perfume, lingering long after they’d walked by.  
Satsuki, down at the side of the court, saw you and waved. At least you assumed she waved at you. You raised your hand at her, and sat down, letting the enthusiasm of the crowd wash over you.

 

_**Year one** _

“It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,” you recited, and Aomine blinked stupidly at you.

“What.”

“Pride and Prejudice. This is a great candidate for your book report on female driven literature.”  
You pushed the open book toward him. “It's about a young woman who defies the expectations of her time to marry the man she truly loves.”

He tilted his head at you.  
“I'm already bored. Do we have a shorter one?”

“No, really, this is a very good book,” you said, tapping it for emphasis.

“Sounds like chic lit to me.”

“In a way it is,” you said, but it's also very cleverly written.

“I can't even pronounce the title, __, this is a verbal exam.”

You shrugged. “Try it.”  
He grunted moodily.  
“Oh come on, we've been doing English for a while now, just try it,” you said.

Aomine sighed deeply and folded his arms. “Puraido anud purayoodish.”  
You bit your lip, hiding a smile, and he flared up.  
“See? Get another one. A thinner one!”

“Sorry, sorry,” you said, holding up your hands in surrender. “I will not laugh at you. I promise. Say it with me. Pride and Prejudice.”  
He rolled his eyes.  
“Come on,” you coaxed.

You pouted at him, and he looked away.  
“Purido and Purejudish”

“Better,” you said encouragingly. “That's much better. You'll do great if you actually read the book.”

“This is stupid, __.”

True, making Aomine read a 432 page classic in English was a stretch, but you were not going to stop now. It was your Satsuki-given duty to make him appreciate English literature and by god you were going to do it.  
“Oh come on, Aomine-kun,” you tried. “A lot of girls love this book. One day you'll probably be able to impress some chick with this knowledge.”

“I'm not planning on impressing any women with my knowledge, __. That's what the body is for,” he said, self-confident smirk back in place.

You snorted.  
“Well imagine how impressed they'll be with the mind, then. No one is expecting that.”

He frowned at you, as if trying to figure out whether that was an insult or not.  
“Fine,” he sighed, and he pulled the book towards him.

 

_**Year one** _

“I want you to stop seeing him.”

“Huh?”  
You looked up from your magazine to find your boyfriend pouting.

“The basketball player, Ahomine,” he said, “You're spending an awful lot of time with him.”

You blinked.  
“His name is Aomine, hun,” you smiled, “and I'm tutoring him. 'Spending time' is kind of the point.”

“Well can't you find someone else to 'tutor' him?”

He folded his arms and you could definitely hear the quotes in that sentence.  
You tilted your head at him and a thought struck.  
“Oh my god, are you jealous?” you said, bursting into a giggle.  
He looked pretty cute when he was grumpy like this, but he didn't find the situation funny.

“I just wanna hang out with my girl, ya know,” he said, and plopped down next to you.

“Your girl, huh,” you smirked.

He leaned in, kissing your shoulder.  
“Mmhmmm.”

 

_**Year one** _

“So what about your girl, Aomine-kun?”

“Hahh?”  
Aomine lay on a futon on the tatami floor of a large inn, playing with his phone while next to him, the member of his team were playing cards and ‘bonding’.  
That was the unofficial reason to have this training camp, after all.  
Touou had never been too big on the power of friendship, but they seemed to be coming around a little. Something about being defeated by the rag tag group of badly prepared idiots that was Seirin.  
The _official_ reason they were spending a weekend in a lodge in the middle of nowhere was, of course, to train, but since no one could even come close to beating Aomine at this point, he didn’t really see the big deal.

“Your ideal girl,” a third year called Suzuki repeated. “We’ve all had a go, now it’s your turn. What do you look for in a woman.”

“Boobs.”

“Ok,” the first year sighed. “What else.”

“What else is there?” Aomine shrugged.

“Well, there’s demeanour,” Sakurai muttered, “intelligence, how, um, nice she is.”

“Ass,” one of the second years interjected. He was loud, but Aomine could never remember the idiot’s name.

“How hard it is for him to waltz over her,” Wakamatsu added.

“Oy,” Aomine grumbled.

 

“Oh come on, Aomine, we all know you’ll need like… some woman who is smart enough to actually stand up to you. If you were to date a sweet little darling, you’d treat her like some kind of slave,” Suzuki continued. “You need like…”

“Sass,” Wakamatsu said gravely. “A will of iron.”

“Yes,” Sakurai nodded. “And strategic insight.”

“And boobs, apparently,” the second year added.

Aomine frowned.  
“If you’re suggesting I date Satsuki, you can fuck right off. I’ve known that girl my entire life. We’re friends.”

“We, uh, weren’t talking about Momoi-san, Aomine-kun”, Sakurai said, face suddenly a bright red.

With a sigh, Aomine rolled over, with his back to them.  
“I’m going to sleep, try not to wake me with your stupid talk.”

 

_**Year one** _

“Wow, you did it!” you said, scanning the grade paper. “Looks like Touou’s basketball future is saved.”

“For now,” Satsuki muttered.

“Congratulations, Aomine-kun!”

“Yeah well, don’t pretend like you’re super surprised, jeez,” Aomine said, rubbing the back of his head.

Momoi nudged him.  
“Say it.”

“Oww Satsuki what the hell.”

“Say itttttttt,” Satsuki repeated, glaring at him.

With a deep sigh, he turned to you.  
“So, yeah, thanks.”

“And to celebrate, he’s buying us ice cream!” Satsuki said.

“What? I never said anything about treating you.”

“Oh? Who is the one dragging you through Maths, and Japanese, and Geography?”

He rolled his eyes.  
“Fine.”

 

 

_**Year one** _

You sat in your favourite coffee shop and drummed your fingers.  
Forty-five minutes.  
Your boyfriend was forty-five minutes late. Enough for you to get a latte and take little sips of it till it got cold, now nothing more but a sad little pile of foam in the bottom of your cup.  
Enough, also, for you to try and call him twice, to no avail, and to send him four text messages, none of which he answered.  
In a final act of desperation, you called his house phone.

“Hi ma’am, this is __,” you said when his mom picked up.

“Oh hello __-san. How nice of you to call. I’ll go get him.”

You could hear stumbling, and your boyfriend having a rather tense conversation with his mother, before he finally picked up.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself, weren’t we meeting up for coffee?” you said. “I’ve been sitting here for damn near an hour.”

“Didn’t feel like it,” he said, voice a strange monotone.

“What do you mean you didn’t feel like it? You’re the one who was complaining that we don’t spend enough time together. If you’re having a bad day you could have texted me, or something. I was worried sick,” you said, getting annoyed.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause on the other end.  
“Sucks, doesn’t it, when you get stood up,” he finally said.

The words fell like ice down your spine.  
“What the fuck.”  
You opened and closed your mouth a few times, feeling the heat rise to your face.  
“You did this on purpose?” you finally said, noticing the audible squeak in your own voice. “This is some prank to you? Some kind of punishment? I have _never_ stood you up. I’ve always asked if you wanted to join and-“

“I don’t want to hang out with those people.”

“Then don’t,” you said, wondering why the hell you were talking in circles like this.  
“I don’t understand what-”

“You don’t understand that I want my girlfriend to care about me?”

“But I do.”

“If you really cared that much, you’d have stopped tutoring that asshole ages ago.”

You blinked, dumbfounded, at your phone.  
“I’m allowed to have friends,” you finally said, “we’ll talk about this later.”  
And you closed the call, fingers trembling.

 

_**Year one** _

“This one’s wrong”, you said, pointing out an exercise. “Have another look? The rest are good though, you’re improving.”  
You smiled encouragingly as Aomine took his paper back and squinted at it.  
Then you leaned back and took out some day cream to rub around your eyes.

He watched you from the corner of his eye.  
Your skin was red and dry, your eyes a little puffy. He was fairly sure they were red, earlier.  
“Be nice,” Satsuki had said to him. “She’s going through a lot and the last thing she needs is you being an ass to her.”  
With a sigh, he sat up.  
“I wanna take a break”, he said. “Take a nap or something.”

“Didn’t you just wake up?” you asked, frowning over your tube of cream.

“Well I’d suggest playing a game of one-on-one together, but I’d have to teach you first and that sounds like a drag.”

“Wh-”

“That tends to cheer me up,” he continued, leaning his head on his hand and pointedly staring out the window. “Naps are the next best thing.”

“Oh,” you said, eyes wide. Somewhere in there, he thought he could see the hint of a smile.

 


	2. Lay-up

_** Year Two ** _

Touou's basketball team was playing regionals and you sat in the crowd, watching.

You’d gotten better at this whole ‘school spirit’ thing. Momoi had explained the rules of basketball to you, to the point where you felt confident enough to know why you cheered when you did, along with the rest of the crowd. 

You even had your very own Touou flag, given to you as a little thank you gift for helping out the team.   
In fact, you were practically a pro at this, you thought as you watched the match.

It wasn't until the third quarter that Aomine, the one you basically came to see, got off the bench.  
He'd been sitting there, seemingly napping, until the coach walked up and tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to reluctantly start warming up. 

When he actually stepped onto the court, the crowd around you went wild.  
Here was Aomine Daiki, the basketball team's ace, and your very grumpy student.  
It felt a little weird. Like you should have been starstruck all this time.  
Like the man's true worth was only catching up to you now.

He was a natural on the court.   
All the hesitation and reluctance he had when studying, the lack of confidence in his own abilities. There was nothing of that here.  
Watching him play, you could finally understand why he was so upset when you compared basketball to physics.There wasn't a lot of thinking or calculating, because there simply wasn't time to think.  
Every movement was smooth, every action instant.  
He played on instinct, like he was born to do this, like he was some force of nature, a large predator perfectly honed to chase and catch its prey.   
At times it was hard to even follow his movements. Hands and feet moving so fast they seemed like a whirlwind.  
This was him in his element, you saw; A shark in water.   
You found yourself cheering louder, heart jumping at every point he scored.

 

 

_**Year Two** _

“Alright,” you said, “with my school play and the whole regionals thing, we missed three whole weeks, so let’s get cracking. Satsuki said there’s a bunch of Physics homework by Friday so-”  
Silently, he slid a piece of paper across the desk.   
“You… did them already?”  
He shrugged and you scanned the pages.  
“Wow, these are pretty good,” you said. “You actually sat down and did these?”

“Why are you so surprised,” he said, sighing, “you’re the one who taught me this shit.”

You looked up to smile at him, but he was pointedly staring out of the window.

“Figured you’d wanna do English, anyway,” he muttered.

“Ok!” you beamed at him.

 

 

_** Year two ** _

“What’s up with your foot?” you asked as Aomine walked up to where you sat under a tree in the park.   
It was a nice day, and the more you got to know him, the more you figured that he was very much like a cat and required sunlight to gather energy. So it would be easier to have your tutoring in a place where he could simultaneously practice the rules of gravity, while also laying on the soft grass like a wet rag drying in the sun.  
That was the theory, at least.   
Mostly, it was an excuse for you to sit outside instead of in a stuffy library. 

“What do you mean,” he grumped, plopping onto the ground.

“You hurt your foot,” you repeated. “Is everything ok?”  
It was barely perceptible, but it was there, a small drag to his leg, like he was trying to not put too much weight on his ankle.   
Also, like he was trying to hide it.   
This was confirmed when he sighed and leaned back on his hands.

“Ah shit.”  
You tilted your head at him.   
“If you notice, Satsuki is definitely going to notice,” he grumbled. 

“And this is a bad thing?”    
You quirked an eyebrow.

“She’s gonna tell the coach and then he’s gonna tell me not to play.”

“Probably sound advice,” you said. 

“I don’t like people telling me not to play.”

 

He pulled his exercise book out of his backpack and opened it, obviously trying to change the conversation while you blinked at him and pondered.  
There was an unease in his body, a little miserable drop in his shoulders.  
A small pout on his face, too. More so than usual when he was confronted with science homework.  
“Are you in pain right now?” you asked gently.

“Duh? How is this any of your business, anyway, it has nothing to do with Physics.”  
With a grunt, he returned to the book, scanning the page while very obviously not reading them. 

“Well, it’s hard to focus when you’re in pain”, you said. “Want me to, uh, have a look at it?”  
He cocked an eyebrow at you.   
“My mom is an overly ambition tennis player. Like you, she’s really bad at stopping when she thinks she can win. So I learned how to massage muscle pain from a pretty early age. If that’s what it is.”  
He watched in silence as you put away the books and sat before him.  
“Is it strain from overuse or did you twist it or something?”

“Just came down wrong,” he said, and he pulled off his shoe and sock, looking distrustful, as he put his foot in front of you.

“Hmm, it’s not blue,” you said as you rubbed your hands together to warm them up. “That’s good.”

 

He hissed when you gently took his ankle and ran your fingers over it, trying to discern what was wrong.   
“This is rock hard,” you said. 

There was a snort, and then a painful hiss when you started softly rubbing the strained muscle.  
“Owwwww, careful,” he whined, but he did not pull away. 

“Obviously I can’t do much if you’ve actually pulled something,” you said. “But if we can get this cramp to relax that should make you feel better.”  
He hummed and fell silent, quietly observing as your fingers glided over his leg, kneading at the knots in his ankle and up his calf.   
You were concentrating so hard, you didn't even notice the light pink dusting on his cheeks until you looked up and he turned his head away.  
“Better?” you said cheerfully.

He rolled his ankle. “Yeah, a little.”

“You should really tape this up before it gets worse, you know.”  
“Yeah yeah.”

“Now then,” you clapped your hands. “Physics!”  
He rolled his eyes and went back to his book.

 

 

_**Year two** _

“Are we done?” he asked, sitting back in his library chair and rolling his neck.

It had been difficult, trying to explain the significance of Shakespeare's Much ado about Nothing, but you thought you'd gotten through, at least.   
“Yeah, that’s probably enough. We made good progress today,” you said, closing your books and shoving them in your bag. 

“Wanna get ice cream?”

You smiled. “It’s pretty cold out, Aomine-kun.”

“Coffee then.”

 

And so, the two of you traipsed over to your favourite coffee shop, where you ordered a latte and found to your mild bafflement that he pulled out his wallet.

“You know you don’t have to pay for me, Aomine-kun,” you said. “I’m perfectly capable of exchanging goods and services for money myself.”

He shrugged. “It’s gonna look bad if we hang out and make you pay for yourself. Besides, if Satsuki finds out she’ll have my head.”

You blinked at him, mildly baffled until the penny dropped.  
“Oh my god,” you said eyes wide.

“What?”

“Oh my god you’re being a gentleman.”

With a grunt, he pushed the paper cup into your hands.   
“Shut up.”

 

_** Year Two ** _

When you walked up to the gym after theatre practice to pick up your wayward student, you found that things were not going well.   
A majority of the first years were standing outside, cautiously leaning against the wall and looking like a bunch of rabbits hiding from a wolf pack.   
From inside, you could hear loud curses, interspersed with shushing noises and at least one very obvious Sakurai apology.   
Giving the first years a glance, you walked to the door and popped your head through. 

Wakamatsu was sitting on the gym floor, clutching his knee and shouting at Aomine, who seemed to grow angrier by the second. Between them stood Satsuki, who was somehow trying to stop her old friend, despite the fact that she was a full head shorter than him, and Sakurai, who kept shouting apologies at Wakamatsu even though you were fairly certain he didn't do anything.   
It seemed like most of the second and third years had already walked off to the locker room, though some stood across the gym, pointedly keeping their distance. 

With a frown, followed by the deer-like glances of the first years, you walked in and knelt down next to Wakamatsu, pulling his hand away from his knee.  
“Did you get hurt?” you asked, scanning his leg.   
It looked a little red, and was quickly swelling.  
Wakamatsu suddenly fell quiet, too busy staring at you stupidly.  
“What happened to it?” you said calmly.

“This asshole tripped me,” he said, pointing at Aomine.

“It was a fucking accident, you idiot,” Aomine shouted back.

“I'm so sorry!” Sakurai interjected.

“Shut up, you didn't do anything,” Wakamatsu said, and he hissed when you laid light fingers on his knee, trying to gauge the sprain. 

“Satsuki, we're going to need an ice pack to get this swelling down,” you said gently. “Could you go get one?”

“Of course,” she said, and with a stern glare at Aomine, she ran off.

“Sakurai-kun, could you go check if the nurse is still around? And you lot,” you looked at the people hanging out by the locker room, “go find the coach.”

 

There was the sound of running feet and suddenly, everything felt very, very quiet.   
You peered at Wakamatsu's knee and gently felt around the edges of the bruise.  
“It doesn't look too bad,” you said, “probably sprained a little. If we can keep it steady, it should be fine, though we probably want a proper nurse to double-check.”

Next to you, Wakamatsu made a weird, wheezy cough sound, and you looked up to see that his face was a mask portraying a miriad of emotions, most pressing of which were anger, confusion, shock, indecisiveness and complete and utter embarrassment.   
It was like he was still ready to shout more profanities, but got stuck now that he was in the presence of a girl, who was _touching_ him. It was interesting to watch his face go through everything all at once while his brain desperately tried to reboot and run the proper processes.  
But whatever the proper process was, it obviously couldn't be found right now.  
Wakamatsu wheezed.

“Aomine-kun, can I get that water bottle, please?” you said, pulling a small towel out of your bag. 

Aomine, who was still hovering around like a rain cloud, grabbed the bottle and lobbed it at you, watching mutely as you emptied it onto the towel and gently draped the cloth on Wakamatsu's knee.

Wakamatsu made another small choking sound.

“Sorry,” you said, “We just wanna keep it as cool as possible until we get you proper help.”  
You smiled encouragingly, and he nodded, casting his eyes down.

“I swear if you're actually trying to look down her shirt, I am going to kick you in the knee,” Aomine grumbled from somewhere behind you.

 

 

_**Year two** _

“So this whole thing is a masterclass on the extensive use of footnotes for sarcasm,” you said as Aomine walked you home one evening. “But basically, the whole series has wizards who summon djinni in elaborate contracts to do their bidding.”  
Aomine, next to you, snorted.  
“Not like that! Oh my god.”  
You made to jab his side, but he dodged, laughing.

“Too slow,” he said, returning to your side. “But go on. So there’s genies.”

“Yes,” you said. “And these genies, they’re always trying to find ways to eat the wizards.”  
He made a face.  
“Either way, the story is from the POV of a particularly witty, tired djinn called Bartimaeus. Of course, chaos ensues.”

“Of course,” he hummed. “Cannibal genies. Lovely.”

“But it’s a good book, I swear.”

“I believe you,” he said, stopping at a cross-walk. “Probably won’t read it, mind, but I believe you.”

 

You giggled, and when you looked up, it was to find him bending down and pressing his lips to yours. It was brief and surprisingly soft.   
He opened his eyes and smirked at your wide-eyed shock. 

“What was that for?” you muttered.

“You looked cute,” he said, and when you were still quietly blinking, he added: “Sorry.” 

“You're not,” you replied.

He lifted one eyebrow and seemed to think for a second.   
“You're right,” he said, and took one hand out of his pocket to lay it on your shoulder, before leaning in with a cocky grin to kiss you again.

This time you were ready to return it, standing on tip-toes and gripping his jacket to melt into a kiss you could only now admit to yourself that you'd always ached for.

Still, he wasn't particularly good at this. His lips were a bit too wild, too wet, but you couldn't, in that moment, say you cared. A feeling of extreme joy was quickly rising through your body, lifting you half off your feet. When he pulled back, you were smiling.

“You know, I was kind of expecting you to slap me,” he said calmly.

“You ass!” You prodded him in the side.

He grinned, putting two long arms around your shoulders as he pulled you closer. “Looks like you were head over heels for me all this time.”

 

 

_**Year two** _

There were three.   
College students, by the looks of them.   
From your bench overlooking the little concrete court, you could see your boyfriend dribble past two and throw the ball over the last one, immediately picking it up after one bounce and making the basket from just inside the paint.

You sipped your iced tea and watched Aomine dance circles around his opponents, laughing and taunting while he shifted, dodged and dribbled so fast it became a blur.

“Come on, keep up!” he shouted, twirling around and rushing past one of them. He came to the next opponent, feinted left, then right, only to pass left again. The guy cursed loudly.

Aomine was showing off. That much was obvious.   
His body seemed to move with a speed all of its own. It was hard to keep up even as a viewer, and you'd watched him do this dozens of times. Two more points and the opponents slinked off, regretting their challenge to a lone basketball player.

“Dude, you're not normal,” you heard one of them whine.

“Yeah, well you suck,” came the reply.   
Aomine stood on the court and twirled the ball on his finger, suddenly bored.

 

You finished your drink and walked over.   
“Show me?” you said.

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Show me how to play,” you repeated.

“You want me to teach you basketball?”   
His expression was halfway between a smirk and confusion.

“I want to be able to play with you,” you started, “and I already know the basics.”

“The basics...” he repeated, face creasing into the beginning of a smirk.

“Well I've watched you,” you stammered, “and we had it in PE class a bunch of times.”

Aomine started to laugh but stopped when he saw your pout.   
“Fine,” he sighed, “What do I get in return?”

“In return?” you blinked at him. His face was entirely smirk now and you thought it over for a second.  
“Kisses,” you deadpanned.

“Hmmmm, professional teaching doesn't come cheap, you know,” he said, rolling the ball up over his hand to his elbow before tipping it in the air and catching it in his other hand.

“Lots of kisses.”   
You folded your arms across your chest and glared at his smug face.

“Alright.” He gave a small chuckle and tossed the ball at you. “Let's see you dribble.”

 

You experimentally bounced the ball a few times, trying to remember how it went.   
He had stuffed his hands in his pockets and was frowning at you, head tilted while he looked on. His gaze was surprisingly sharp and you tried your best not to make a complete fool of yourself. For a few moments you actually managed to keep the ball steady, bouncing it from one hand to the other, until it hit your foot and rolled off. You chased it, face heating up.

“Ok,” Aomine said when you came back. “That's not how you stand. Put your feet a bit wider apart.”   
He came and stood at your back, placing his knees behind yours. Slowly, he pushed them forward while holding your shoulder to stop you falling over.   
“Like that,” he said, “and now bend forward.”   
He pushed himself flush with you and put his arm around your waist, tipping your top half.   
“Nice,” he murmured in your ear.

“Oi!” you swatted at him.

“Did you want me to show you or not?”   
He stepped back, lifting an eyebrow at you. “Now try it again.”

You bounced the ball and had to grudgingly admit to yourself that this went a bit better.

“Use your fingers,” Aomine said from your side, “not your palm. You need to tell the ball where to go.”

You dribbled some more, face contorted in concentration.

“And look at me,” came the next order, as he walked back to face you. “Don't look at the ground. You already know where the ground is. What you need to find out is where the ball will go, otherwise your hand won't get there in time.”

After a while, and with a few more instances of him helpfully wrapping himself around you, you got the hang of it. He watched, amused, as you triumphantly ran lines across the court.

“You're not half bad,” he said, “For an amateur.”  
You poked your tongue out at him.   
“Now try dribbling past me,” he continued, evil grin on his face as he spread himself out like a fan.

“Oh, you think I won't do it?” you squinted at him. “It is ON, buddy.”

 

It quickly became apparent that 'on' or not, what you were trying to do was impossible.   
He blocked you at every turn. He wasn't even trying to steal the ball from you, he just made you shift and turn while his long limbs hovered, trapping you wherever you were trying to go.   
It certainly didn't help that he was incredibly fast and that he actually knew what he was doing. This was far from fair, you told yourself, and your arms were starting to grow tired.   
But you'd be damned if you let him see that.

At least it was fun. Aomine was grinning like an idiot and generally being adorable in his attempts to keep you from passing. You would catch him stealing glances at you, lingering a little too close when he screened or trying to look down your shirt when he blocked.   
The boy was a perv, but he was your perv. And it gave you an idea.

 

You locked eyes with him, lifting your eyebrows to make sure you had his attention. He frowned, sneaky smile still plastered on his face.   
You bit your lip seductively and made the collar of your shirt fall just so, revealing a strip of skin on your shoulder.

He blinked, momentarily distracted, and you leaned in to kiss his lips.   
This was only going to work once, so you'd better make it happen.   
In the second he closed his eyes to kiss you, you shifted, dribbling past him. You reached the basket, only to realize that you should have probably asked him how to make an accurate shot first.

“Oi,” he grumbled, looming behind you.   
Of course he was faster, you'd seen him do this a million times.   
Quickly, you lined up the shot and... missed.  
“Awww,” you pouted.

The ball bounced off the hoop and your boyfriend flew past, plucking it out of the air and placing it in the basket. You put your hands to your sides and leaned forward, panting heavily.   
He picked up the ball and tucked it into the crook of his arm.   
“You don't play fair, __-chan,” he said, stepping closer.

“I got past you, didn't I,” you grinned, still huffing.

A flicker of a proud smile crossed his lips.  
Aomine wrapped a long arm around your heaving shoulders and kissed the top of your head.  
“Good job,” he rumbled, “Now let's see about my payment.”

 

_**Year Two** _

It was his first time, that much was clear.  
On a man who mostly consisted of swagger and overconfidence, the nervous look he gave you now was... endearing.

“Are you sure,” you asked gently as you sat in his lap on the couch, on a quiet autum evening. “If you feel like you're not ready-”

“For fuck's sake, __,” he said, “I've been wanting to-”  
And he shut his mouth, swallowing whatever statement was coming next.  
“I'm ready if you are.” he said instead, and he folded his mouth into a smirk.   
“Think you can handle me, babe?”

With a smile, you leaned forward and kissed his forehead, making your way down to the tip of his nose as his hands fumbled with the buttons on your blouse. 

 

There had been some excursions before. Between the two of you.  
A careful hand job during a movie, a heated kiss after a particularly enticing match, that turned into a blow job which had left him a blushing, blubbering mess.   
There had been lazy afternoons where his hands wandered over your skin, tested the bounce of your breast and, sneakily, the softness of your thighs.   
His nervous fingers had explored your sex, stopping at every sound you made like they'd just stabbed you.

But it had never gone any further than that.  
He had always seemed a little wary, like he was afraid to disappoint you.  
Meanwhile, your memories of full-on sex consisted of some deeply awkward sessions in a school bathroom that still made you cringe at the thought.  
So while you told yourself that there wasn't much riding on this, that it was another step like many steps in getting to know each other, you really rather hoped that it would feel right.

 

Aomine, in front of you, finished opening your blouse and stilled.   
He sucked in his bottom lip, apparently admiring the view while his fingers slowly crept up your sides.  
“Hmm?” you hummed, amused at the hint of awe you found in his eyes, the light dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“Yeah, these are good,” he said, cocky smile aimed not so much at your face as at your bosom, while his large hands folded over your bra cups.

“Well, I’m glad you approve, I guess,” you said, and you wiggled, eliciting a hiss.  
“Oh? Excited, are you?”

“What do you think?” he growled, and he leaned forward, dotting the skin just above your bra with small, wet kisses.   
This was the side of him you liked best, when he couldn't or wouldn't keep up the swagger, when you reduced him to nearly two metres of dork.  
“Fuck babe,” he said, “have you ever taken a good look at yourself?”  
His voice was low and raspy, a deep murmur that, this close to your heart, sent tremors throughout your body. 

With a sigh, you moved your hips forward, grinding against him.  
This time, you were granted a whimper. 

 

You scooted back a little and smiled at him with hooded eyes.   
“Your turn,” you said.

He licked his lips and started undoing his pants, without a trace of hesitation.  
Aomine, you found, was very confident in his body, and with good reason.   
His eyes never left you as he freed his erection and lazily stroked the length of it, smile now almost arrogantly cocky.   
He was hard, almost painfully so, and you wanted little more right now than the feel the full force of that hardness.

You took off your blouse and made to unclasp your bra, but he stopped you, grabbing your hand and placing a kiss on your fingers.  
“Keep the clothes on,” he whispered.

You tilted your head at him, frowning.”We're gonna make a mess.”

“I don't care,” he said, and he pulled you down into a long kiss.   
“If I see any more of you I'm going to explode,” he hissed against your lips, “and the whole point is for me to rock your world.”

The retort you had ready would only complicate things, so you bit it down, instead leaning over to reach for the condoms.  
“Ok,” you said, voice trembling only a little. “Rock me, baby.”  
And you swallowed down a giggle as he lifted an eyebrow at you.

“Oh you know it, babe.”

 

When he – slowly, nervously – entered you, you found yourself sighing deeply as you relaxed into his touch.  
It felt surprisingly good. A lot better, at least, than you'd feared, or than experience had taught you.

Aomine was a little too eager, perhaps even too careful, but his touch felt like fire, and when he moved in you, you could feel the nervousness and cold anticipation fall away, slowly replaced with a warm honeyed feeling that begged for more.   
It wasn't, in any sense, perfect, you thought as you kissed him until you were both breathless, but it was definitely right.

 

_**Year two** _

“So did you decide yet?”   
Aomine draped himself on the couch where you sat checking leaflets for prospective colleges.   
“With your grades you can probably do whatever.”

You dropped the pile of paper on a side table and pouted.  
“Have you?” you said. “Where do you want to go? Didn’t you want to go to America?”

He shrugged.   
“Got a few invitations from some universities here. I figure I’ll enjoy the student life first.”  
You grinned. “Enjoy the student life?”

“If I sign up for a business degree, Tokyo University will leave me alone for the most part,” he said. “And there’s some pretty good players there.”

“None as good as you, of course.”

“I mean yeah,” he shrugged.  
“So what are you gonna do? Something literature whatever?”

 

“I’ve been thinking,” you said, and you showed him a leaflet.

“Physical therapy?”

“I’m pretty good at it,” you said, “I think, at least. And I kinda like helping people.”

“You _love_ helping people, __-chan,” he said, rolling his eyes, “you’re a fucking saint.”

You poked your tongue at him.  
“Coach Harasawa says it’s a valid career. Like I could help people with walking after they’ve had accidents and stuff.”

“Mmm,” he said, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“He also gave me the number of his friend, Aida Kagetora,” you went on. “You know, Riko from Seirin’s dad.”

“Mmm.”

“He's a sports trainer with like specialisation in muscles. I could go and talk to him about day to day work and stuff. There's a bunch of different career opportunities in this.”

“You’ve been thinking a lot about this, huh” he said, turning to flop across your lap.

“Well it gives me... a bit of time, I guess. I actually have to make career decisions, you know,” you said, looking down at him. “It’s easy for you, you already knew what you wanted to do at like… twelve.”

“Well, you’ll be fine,” he said and he closed his eyes, getting comfortable.

“Fine?”

“Ok, great. You'll do great at whatever it is. Better?”

“Much,” you said, and you tousled his hair, earning you a soft hum.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya,   
> welcome to half of this story :)  
> The second half exists, I swear, but it needs a little tweaking. Coming soon!  
> In the meantime, please tell me what you think.


	3. Fadeaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the part where I remind you that this is E-rated. (Hide that screen!)

 

_**Year three** _

 Aomine was sitting on the floor of the university gym, idly flipping through a magazine, when you stormed in, all dressed up and slightly out of breath.  
“Daiki, there you are! Come on, we're going to be late!”

He looked up with a pout.  
“Don't wanna,” he said, “It sounds like it's gonna be lame.”

“Come on, you promised,” you held out a hand, “I've been looking forward to this party and I want my boyfriend to come.”   
At least he wasn't wearing shorts. He had, at some point, gotten dressed and then...  
You sighed.

He looked up and smirked, a glint of something not entirely innocent in his eye.  
“Hmmm, ok. But...”  
He grabbed your hand and pulled you down onto his lap.  
“Maybe we can be a little late?”  
His fingers slid under your shirt.  
“No one expects me to be on time, anyway.”

“Dai...ki,” you started to protest, but his lips had found your throat and his hands slithered up your back and that made it hard to think.   
When he held you like this, it felt like he could completely envelop you. As if he could coil every inch of himself around you like a satin rope.  
His mouth had made it's way to the top button on your shirt and deft fingers at your back were already unclasping your bra.  
There was a distinct bulge in his lap and you had to take a deep breath before pushing his shoulders away from you.  
“No,” you finally managed to whisper.  
He halted and looked at your face, eyebrows raised questioningly.  
“Not here,” you clarified through hazy eyes, motioning to the gym door and the sound of talking outside it.

With a grin, he got up and ushered you into the locker room, where he pulled you into a shower stall.  
He locked the door and whirled around with a quickness that seemed almost unnatural.  
Instantly, he was all over you again. One hand caressed your face while the other was already wriggling your panties aside. He kissed you deeply and one of his fingers slid between your folds.  
You made a small surprised noise into his mouth, which he met with a low, pleased growl.

 

“God you're hot, you know that?” Aomine whispered in your ear.  
He let go and took a small step back, letting his eyes roam over you while his mouth gained a wolfish grin.  
Your hair, done up if now slightly tousled, your lipstick smudged a little. Your shirt was half undone and your eyes sparked with a roguish joy he would always find irresistable.  
He ran the pad of his thumb over his mouth, tracing spit to wipe off a smear of red.  
Then, before your frowning face, he knelt and unceremoniously pulled your panties down.

“Wha?”, you yelped in surprise when he lifted one of your legs and put it over his shoulder.

“I'm going to fuck you hard, __-chan,” he rumbled. “Wouldn't want you to get hurt.”  
And he slid his tongue between your folds.

 

Your head fell back.  
“Oh god.”

“You'd better not make too much noise, __-chan,” he hummed in a singsong voice, sending shivers up your spine.

You could feel your knees go weak as he ran his tongue along the length of your sex, causing small sparks along the way. Desperately, you stretched out your hand, grabbing the tiles for a hold you couldn't find.  
“D-daiki I'm going to fall.”

“Like I'd let you,” he murmured, and his head pulled back, emerging from your skirt with a trademark smirk.  
You thought, for a brief moment, that he was giving you a break, but then you felt his fingers rub against your clit. You had to shove your fist in your mouth to bite down on it, stifling a moan.  
His eyes twinkled as he looked up at you and your now very flushed face.  
Grinning, he slid two fingers inside, moving almost casually.  
You clenched down on them, hard.  
“My, my, you are a hungry one.”

“Daiki for fuck's-”  
It was too much, too fast. The thought of what he was doing to you, what he was _going_ to do to you was threatening to take what little stability you had left.  
When you grabbed his shoulder for purchase, he came back up, hand not leaving your pussy.   
He leaned the other against the wall and hovered in front of you. You could smell the distinct scent of your desire on him, a musky, tangy smell that he licked off his lips before he moved closer and kissed you deeply.

Finally he pulled back, leaving you gasping for air.   
His eyes had turned a shade darker, his need transforming them into pools of midnight, deep as the ocean.  
“Hitch up your skirt,” he murmured, and quietly, you complied.  
Biting your lip, you watched as he pulled his pants down and slipped on a condom.  
“You good to go?” he asked, whispering it in your ear in a way that made you shudder.  
You nodded quickly, and he grinned at you.

 

In a swift motion, he picked you up and, almost on instinct, you put your legs around him, arms holding on to his shoulders as he pinned you against the wall and slowly pushed into you.  
“Ffffff-” You whimpered, legs clutching his sides, as you eased into the feeling, and Aomine slowly found his rhythm.

He was being careful, you noted.  
He always was. It was one of the things you liked about him, but it was not what you needed right now.  
“I thought you were gonna fuck me hard, Dai-kun?” you whispered in your most sultry voice.

His eyes rested on you and it was like you'd lit a fire inside them.  
“Alright,” he said, and he snapped his hips back.  
The next moment, he slid into you with full force, making you gasp in surprise.   
You clung to his shoulders as he shifted to a pace that was almost brutal but at the same time incredibly satisfying.  
“Wow, you really like this, huh babe,” he said, choppily, in between thrusts, “being pounded into the wall?”

All you could do in response was whimper. The feeling of being suspended, engulfed like this, was messing with your head and the friction, the way his pubes tickled your clit, was making it hard to keep your voice down. It took every bit of your strength to stay quiet.  
You dropped your head on his shoulder and clutched your arms around his neck, closing your eyes.  
“Dai-”  
Four more thrusts and you came, sobbing into his skin.

It was a sign for him to let go of whatever he was holding back until now, his pace becoming erratic before he slowed and ultimately stilled.   
You took a few deep breaths to try and gain some form of control.  
“Shhhh,” he whispered into your hair, gently lowering you onto your feet. You wobbled, a little unsteady, muscles shaking from a strain you weren't used to.  
His arms held you close, careful not to drop you, and he nuzzled the top of your head while your heart and his slowed from a mad, taut drum beat to something more manageable.  
“You ok?” he asked after a while.

“Mmmhmmm,” you hummed. “But we really should get going...”

“Ahh, yes,” he murmured and with a single finger he tipped your head up to kiss your forehead.   
“We're really late,” he said.  
He pressed his lips to the tip of your nose.  
“For the thing.”  
He kissed your cheek, making you giggle.  
“With the stuff.”  
His grinning lips found yours.

 

 

_**Year three** _

“Daiki?”

You opened the door to your tiny studio looking adorably crumpled. Your hair was pinned back from your face and you were wearing shorts and an old t-shirt. The kind of stuff you probably considered a 'slob outfit', but that happened to hug your body in some rather interesting places.  
Aomine smiled. He was not here for that, he reminded himself.  
“Hey babe,” he said casually.

“What are you doing here? I have exams tomorrow,” you whined and your face creased into a plea that he was fairly certain you'd learned from Satsuki.  
It never worked for her, either.

“I know,” he said, pushing past you and holding up a plastic bag. “That's why I have food. I figured you'd be overdoing it.”

“I'm not-” you protested, but he was already in your kitchen, trying – and failing - to find a clean spot on your overflowing kitchen counter.

“Holy shit, _, this looks as bad as my place.”

“I've been studying,” you pouted. “And I don't have time for-”  
He dropped the bag on the coffee table and opened the boxes, sending the smell of pad thai and fried rice wafting through your apartment.  
Your stomach made a loud growling sound and Aomine grinned up at you.  
“Ok I could take a small break maybe,” you said, and you plopped down opposite him.

 

 

_**Year four** _

“Plans for tonight?” Aomine said.

“You mean apart from studying?”

He rolled his eyes and wrapped his long arms around your waist.  
“Is that all you're gonna do?”

“That is kind of the point of going to uni, Daiki,” you grinned.

He pouted at you.  
“There's a party tonight. It should be good. Come with me?”  
You tilted your head at him.  
“Have a little dance, a little drink. Make out in the kitchen,” he said, raising his eyebrows.  
Now it was your turn to roll your eyes.  
“Come on, it'll be fun,” he pleaded. “Your next test is weeks away and you need something to make up for all the cramming.”

You pondered it for a moment.  
“Alright Daiki,” you said, smiling. “But I'm not planning on making it too late, and I will not be dancing naked on the tables. I heard the stories, buddy.”

“Yeah, that one was wild,” he said, grinning.

“Wait, that was real?”

 

 

_**Year four** _

“Let me practice on you?”  
You were pacing through Aomine's living room with your sports massage book, trying to get all the grips in your head.

He gave you a smirk.  
“Well,” he said, scooting over, “who am I to refuse?”

“Any specific pains or sores you want help with?” you started saying, and you saw his face light up.  
“that are not your dick?” you added smugly.

His face fell.  
“May as well do my back then,” he said, and he flopped over.  
He lay on on his front of the couch, head resting on his forearms.  
“Let's see what you're made of,” he hummed.

“Sure thing, mister,” you grinned, and you climbed on top, straddling him.  
“Now it's very important that you give me feedback,” you said, pushing up his shirt.  
“If anything hurts, or if it feels like I'm digging in too much, let me know, ok?”

“Mmmhmmm,” he said, already closing his eyes for what he probably thought would be a nap.

You warmed up your hands and put a little oil on them, just to make sure you wouldn't hurt him, and then you got to work.

 

You started out slowly, running the flat of your hands across his back, warming the skin. Then you dropped your hands to his side, pads of your thumb rubbing circles on the small of his back.  
“Is that ok?” you said, a little worried.

“Mmmhmmm,” he hummed.  
With a smile, you continued, running your thumbs up the side of his spine. You let the palms of your hand glide across his skin, moving up and down a few times to loosen the muscle.  
“Ooooh,” he hummed.

“Everything alright?” you asked.

“'s Nice.”  
Feeling emboldened, you moved your hands up and found his shoulders, digging your thumbs in to knead out any knots.  
“Oh.”

“Hmm?” you said.

“Oh baby, keep doing that.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but continued, moving inward as you massaged the side of his neck, making sure to work the muscles at the back.   
Aomine growled.  
“Daiki, what the fuck.”

“You should charge money for this,” he said, voice muffled by the pillow he was resting on.

“That is the plan, yes.”

“No, I mean like wear a bikini and charge extra.”  
With a sigh, you shook your head and continued, tracing a path down his back while rubbing circles at his sides.  
He moaned. “Fuck, babe. That's so good.”

“Daiki, will you stop making perverted noises!”

 

 

_**Year four** _

“So it's karaoke night,” Aomine said.

You gave him an amused look.  
“I didn't know you sang, Daiki,” you smirked.

He pouted. “Why wouldn't I? I'll have you know I'm a great singer. My manly, raspy voice is very sexy.”

“I don't doubt that, hun. It just doesn't seem to fit the image, is all,” you shrugged, returning your attention to your wardrobe, and the complete lack of functioning clothes that conveyed just the right amount of fashion forwardness while also looking like you weren't trying too hard.  
“Go have fun. I hope there's video afterwards.”

He snorted and shook his head, leaning against the wardrobe.  
“Like that's gonna happen. If you wanna see that shit, you're gonna have to come with. But you were having a girl's night? Some romantic movie shit?”

You finally decided on a dress and pulled it out of your closet with a critical look on your face.  
“Not... exactly,” you said. “One of my friends got dumped and we're doing revenge movies. It was Riko's idea.”

 

Alarmed, he took a step back.   
Riko scared the shit out of him. Always had.  
As such, he had a very reluctant sort of respect for Hyuuga, one he was never going to talk about, ever.  
“Do I want to know what's on the menu?” he asked carefully.

You shrugged and smiled sweetly, before taking the dress to the bathroom to change.  
“Probably not.” 

 

_**Year four** _

Aomine's phone lit up, casting a blue glow in the darkened room.  
Carefully, so as not to wake you, he picked it up.  
Message from a classmate.

“ _Yo you coming or what? place is lit”_

He blinked and looked at the clock. One in the morning.  
The tv was playing some late night talk show, the movie you two were watching long since over.  
In his arms, you were fast asleep, the soft rise and fall of your shoulders pressing against his chest.  
He leaned over and nosed your hair, messy and fluffed up from where you'd lain.  
With a small smile, he placed a kiss there.

You stirred, briefly, and he froze, smirking when you drifted off to sleep.  
You'd been overdoing it again, he knew. Exhausted yourself cramming.  
'Good enough' was never gonna be your goal, after all.  
He closed his eyes and nuzzled your neck, settling into the familiar warmth of your skin, the slow beat of your heart.

 

His phone buzzed again, sharp light piercing the calm gloom.  
Frowning, he opened it.

It was a picture this time.  
Young men and women on what looked like a dance floor covered in soap bubbles.

“ _Theyre starting the wet tshirt contets”_ the tag said.

Aomine blinked and sighed. Fucking hell, wet t-shirt contests.  
He'd only ever heard of those in American movies.  
With a sigh, he looked down at your sleeping form.  
You wouldn't even notice he was gone, he thought.  
And gently, carefully, he disentangled his long arms from their embrace.  
You made a low humming sound, but didn't wake. He slipped off the couch, placed a blanket over you, and tiptoed out.

 

 

_**Year four** _

“ _This heatwave looks like it'll be continuing, with temperatures in the thirties for the rest of the week. Take care out there, and make sure to bring water if you go outside, listeners! And now for some words from our sponsors.”_

Ugh. Too hot.  
You turned the shower to a cooler setting while the radio played a commercial for a summer festival.  
Outside the bathroom, you could hear the opening and closing of the front door.

“It's me.” Aomine's voice came from the entry hall.   
You washed your hair while he plodded through the living room.  
“You in here?” his voice came from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Yeah,” you said. “I just got back from class but it's too hot out there. I felt disgusting.”  
A little snort could be heard and the boy walked away.

 

“Daiki?” You finished rinsing off and wrapped a towel around yourself, padding through your apartment. You found him on the bed in front of a fan, one hand over his eyes, the other holding a sports drink.   
He'd dropped his shirt and pants, wearing only a pair of boxers as he lay there like a particularly large pile of molten chocolate.  
“How was practice?” you asked.

“Too hot,” he said, and he lifted his arm a little to check you out while you rifled through a pile of clothes.

“No kidding, do they even make you run in this weather?”

“They do,” he said miserably. And he watched you pick out a minimal outfit before stopping in front of the fan to let the air cool you just a little.

“Hey,” he said.

“Mmmm?”

He put down the sports drink and held out his hand.   
“C'mere.”  
Frowning, you came closer.  
“You know what would be cooler,” he started.

You tilted your head, smiling. “Do tell.”

He tugged at your towel.  
“Very heavy fabric,this. Thick.”

“Well,” you said with a knowing grin, “You're not wrong.”  
And before you could react, a long arm snaked around your waist and pulled you onto the bed, Aomine quickly rolling over until he was on top of you.  
“Oi!” you squeaked, but his mouth was already on your shoulder, making its way up your neck.

“Hi,” he said, lips millimetres from your ear.

“Daiki....”

“You smell nice,” he added, coming up and pinning you beneath him.  
He loosened your towel, his hand tracing your sides while the fan blew goosebumps onto your skin.

 

Before you knew it, you were lost in wet kisses and slow movements, sinking into the lazy heat of your two bodies, singed at the edges by the soft breeze of the fan.  
The thing was supposed to cool you down, but instead it fuelled the fire, setting your skin ablaze and amplifying your senses.   
Aomine was rarely slow when he made love to you, but when he did, right here, right now, it was everything.  
The two of you moved at the speed of water lapping at the edge of a lake, a slow afternoon of buzzing cicada's, with the smell of grass heavy in the air. It was enough, for a moment, to forget the heat, and your work, and everything else in the world outside this bed.

 

“ _And it looks like the high pressure field causing today's heat will strike up some heavy storms tonight, so be careful out there, listeners.”_

The radio struck up a jangly pop song and you laid back, letting the sweat evaporate from your skin.  
You lifted your arm and smelled your armpit.  
“I'm going to have to take another shower,” you pouted.

Aomine propped himself up, eyes wandering your naked form with a wide grin and the obvious glint of a hatching plan.  
“Maybe this time I'll join you.”

 

 

_**Year four** _

Aomine's team had won.  
Of course it had.  
The celebrations had started in the locker room, with beer, and had quickly progressed to vodka at a nearby bar, and now he was walking down the street, supported by two young ladies who seemed quite happy to be flanking the winning ace.

Things were going swimmingly until he reached the next bar to find a bunch of his second string team mates and friends outside.  
And you.  
You raised an eyebrow and folded your arms.  
“Ah shit,” he said.

“Having fun?” you tilted your head. “I heard you guys won, so I thought I'd take a break from my paper but maybe that was a bad time?”

Aomine sighed and looked down out his supports.  
“It's not what you think.”

“Isn't it?” you said, dangerous little smile on your face.

“They're just making sure I make it here in one piece.”  
One of the girls nodded quickly.

“That means you're drunk enough that you can't walk anymore,” you said, rubbing your forehead. “Jesus, Daiki.”  
You walked over.  
“I think it's best if I and Takao here take over supporting duties, don't you think?” you said, giving the girls a sharp look and making them disperse.  
Suddenly without anything to balance him out, Aomine wobbled, but saved it by leaning nonchalantly against a wall.  
You waved over Takao, who seemed to think this whole ordeal was hilarious.  
“Let's get you on a chair, and get you hydrated, yeah?” you said.

“Aw, you're no fun,” Aomine pouted when you hauled him inside and pushed him onto a bench.

You poked your tongue out at him and went to the bar to get water.

 

 

_**Year four** _

“Daiki, do you still love me?”

Aomine's mind went blank, eyes blinking rapidly as he stared at you.  
“What kind of a question is that?”  
He knew you'd been acting a little weird lately, a little more sluggish and less.... happy-go-lucky than usual, but this was alarming.

You shrugged.  
“Just wondering.”

With a sigh, he scooted closer.  
“Wondering what? Is this about those girls at the party because I thought I explained that and I wasn't going to-”

“It's not about that,” you said softly.  
You weren't looking at him.  
Instead, your tired eyes stared at the tv screen, where Princess Peach was doing a victory lap in her kart.  
“I sometimes wonder if we're not growing apart a little,” you said, almost whispering it. “If this is the right thing to do. If we're holding each other back.”

“Back from what?”

“I dunno! Our studies? America? I just don't want-”

He laid a long, calloused finger on your lips.  
“Stop.”

Your shoulders slumped.

 

 

_**Year four** _

Aomine rolled over in bed and propped his head up on his hand.  
“You wanna do that again?” he smirked.

You hummed, running your fingers through his hair.   
“Give me a minute, will ya? Mister fancy athlete?”  
You were panting a little, trying to get your breathing down, your damp chest rising and falling in a slowing pattern as you closed your eyes.  
And then you smiled a soft, tired little smile that nestled itself comfortably in his chest.

He leaned down and placed his lips to your shoulder.  
Aomine wasn't afraid to admit, at least to himself, that he loved you the most when you were like this. Hair messed up, skin dappled pink and your whole demeanour just slightly undone.  
Like there was a wild side to you only he ever got to see.  
He let his fingers walk across your skin, up your thigh, until they wiggled between them, searching for the heat.  
You let out a soft moan and opened your eyes, blinking up at him.  
“You know, I think that's my new favourite facial expression of yours,” he murmured.

“Really?” you said, cocking an eyebrow.  
He hummed, nuzzling your neck while his fingers gently brushed the inside of your thigh.  
“What was it before, then?”

He raised one eyebrow at you and couldn't resist a grin.  
“This,” he said, and he pinched your side.

“AAAh, you asshole!” you screamed and devolved into giggles while he attacked you with tickles, quickly turning them into kisses.

 

 

_**Year four** _

“It's not what you think,” Aomine said.

“Really? You're not at a party, drinking, with some girl on your arm, when you told me you needed rest?”  
You felt hot and cold at the same time. Part of you wanted to rip your hair out and just scream at him in rage, while another, much more anxious part was sinking to the bottom of a well, repeating, over and over again, that you knew, always knew, this would happen.

 

“Oh come on baby, don't be like that,” he shushed, ushering the girl away and coming closer.

“Like WHAT exactly? Should I be more like her, then? Half naked and drunk?”

“At least she's fun,” he grumbled, and he knew the second he said it, that it was a mistake.  
Your face turned rigid, eyes two burning coals piercing him.  
“That's not what I meant,” he added quickly.

“Isn't it?” you whispered.

 

 

_**Year four** _

“Baby, come on,” Aomine pleaded.   
It was the next day and you sat on his couch, looking pale and just generally sad, and you weren't listening to a thing he was saying.  
“That didn't mean anything. And it certainly didn't mean I don't want you anymore. It's just... I'm in college. This is like my big shot at having fun and going to parties and doing stupid shit,” he explained.

You sighed, staring at your hands.  
“Then maybe that's what you should do,” you said, in a voice that sounded almost like a broken mewl, and very much not like you.  
He blinked.  
“It's obvious that this is what you want,” you added. “So I'm setting you free. You can go and fuck all the girls you want, and get drunk every night. Have fun.”

He stammered. “What are you...”  
You looked at your hands again and the realisation hit him like a knee to the stomach.  
“Are you... breaking up with me over some stupid party?”

“No, Daiki. I'm breaking up with you because this isn't working,” you murmured. “Not anymore. There's what you want, and what I want. And if we stay like this, we're only going to end up regretting it.”

“Wait.”

But you got up, and gathered your books, not saying another word.  
And just like that, you walked out of his door.

 


	4. Rebound

_**Year four** _

“So I've got Jackie Brown, Kill Bill and Audition,” Riko said. “And there are virgin cocktails and ice cream, no booze because you don't need booze right now.”

You pulled up a small smile.  
“Guys, I appreciate the thought, but I'm fine, really.”

“Mmmhmm,” Riko said, pulling you along and completely ignoring your protests. “In that case we'll just have a fun night, won't we?”  
Your other friends nodded, making it clear that at least this evening, you weren't allowed to just lie on the couch and contemplate life.

 

They dragged you to Riko's apartment, where Hyuuga was busy packing his bag to leave for work when you arrived.

“Ladies,” he nodded. And then he noticed the stack of dvd's. “Wait, you're making them watch Audition? Do they know what that is?”

“Shush, Junpei,” Riko said, standing on tip-toes to give him a peck on the cheek. “It'll make her feel better.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No it won't?”

You frowned as she pushed her boyfriend out the door, and the lot of you piled on her couch.  
That evening, you ended up watching a full five minutes of Audition, before switching to lighter fare.  
The whole ordeal didn't make you feel any less empty, but for this evening, at least, you felt warm.

 

 

_**Year five** _

“Satsuki, I’m not going to fucking die,” Aomine said, sighing.  
He stood in the airport departure hall, and Satsuki was making a scene.

“We’ll come to visit,” she said, sniffling. “And we’ll watch you on tv.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, and I got you this.”  
She fished around in her bag and produced a small electronic device, something that looked a little like a calculator.

He frowned as she pushed it into his hands.  
“What the hell, Satsuki?”

“It’s an automatic translator,” she explained, “For your English.”

“I studied a bunch of English, Satsuki,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, and you're terrible at it,” she nodded, earning a tired sigh.

“If you ever get in trouble, you can always call Kagami,” Kuroko added, from somewhere behind her.

“We’re on rival teams, Kuroko.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” the boy smiled mildly. “You at least understand him.”

“My English is fine! I friggin...” he stilled and sighed.  
“Thanks,” he said, stuffing the translator device into his bag.

“Take care, Dai-chan,” Satsuki lilted, pulling him into a hug.

“I will.”

“Fighto, Aomine-kun,” Kuroko said, and he held out his fist.

“You got it,” Aomine grinned, giving him a fist-bump before heading to the security check.

 

 

_**Year six** _

“The swim team?” you asked, glancing at the form.

“It's quite the opportunity,” your professor said. “The internship involves you assisting the physical therapist for the Australian team. Some Japanese nationals are training at the same facility. You should feel right at home.”

You scanned the page again.  
Sydney. You'd be working there for a year as part of an exchange program, assisting athletes in line for the Olympics. It was...  
“Wow,” you stammered. “this is… wow.”

 

 

_**Year six** _

Aomine sat in a booth at the club and idly watched the dance floor.  
The place was pretty wild, he had to admit. A lot of drunk people, heavy r&b beats and, for some reason, bubbles.  
With a raised eyebrow, he watched one of his team mates get sandwiched between two girls with extremely jiggly... assets.  
He snorted and rolled his neck.

“Shot?”  
Another team mate held up the bottle of whiskey.

“Nah, you know I can't drink,” he said. “We have a game tomorrow.”

“Ah, you think you're gonna impress em when they finally let you off the bench, buddy?” the guy grinned.

“Oh, I will,” Aomine said, and his grin gained a dangerous edge.

 

 

_**Year six** _

“ _And the Cleveland Cavaliers take the game! What an intense last few seconds by the new player Aomine Daiki!”_

You sat in a sports bar in Sydney and smiled at the tv.

“I didn't know you liked basketball,” your colleague said, putting a beer in front of your nose.

“Mm, I follow it a little,” you hummed and you pointed at the tv. “I know that guy. He, uh, went to my school.”

“Oh the Japanese one?” he said. “It's a miracle he's made it this far. No offense but that's a difficult playing field to get into, if you're from a smaller country.”

“Oh I know, you said, shrugging, “But I think that's kinda the point, for him.”

 

 

_**Year six** _

Aomine rolled over in bed and propped his head on his hand.  
He let his gaze wander across the naked girl next to him, from the floofy blonde hair over the curve of her breast, down her stomach to the little butterfly tattoo on her hip, just peeking out above the sheet.

“You know you've got pretty smouldering eyes there,” she giggled, and he blinked up.   
“It reminds me of that movie,” she said, “with the lake and the man jumps in and then he comes up and sees her and...” She fell silent, pondering.  
“Mister Darcy. I don't remember much of the rest of the movie.”

Aomine tilted his head. “Pride and Prejudice.” he said.

The girl tittered. “That's the one! I didn't know you were into old English movies.”

“It's a book too,” Aomine chuckled. “Someone once told me I'd impress a girl with that.”

“Well,” she smiled, and she ran a pink manicured hand over his arm. “Colour me impressed, mister Aomine.”

With a snort, he rolled over and got up off the bed.  
“It was fun,” he said, “but I should get going. I'ma take a shower.”

“Oh? Want me to join you?” she asked.

“Nah, I'm good.”

 

 

_**Year six** _

“__-chan!”

“Hey Satsuki,” you said, “Nice to hear from you again!”  
You grabbed a soda from the fridge and took your phone outside, to the balcony, where you sat down to enjoy the last of the evening sun.  
“What's been going on?”

“So, uh, a lot, actually”, Satsuki began. “I've been busy trying to tell everyone and I really wanted you to hear it from me personally, before you saw it on Facebook or something.”

You frowned.  
“Is everything ok?”

“Yes, of course!” Satsuki said, voice squeaking a little; “It's... Well, Kuroko and I are getting married!”

“That's great news,” you said. “I'm so happy for you!”

“Right? I can't believe he finally asked me. So things have been a bit hectic, but I really wanted you to know. The wedding will be a few months still, but please tell me you'll come! I know it's far, but I'd really like you to join us.”

You swirled your drink, smiling softly.  
“Of course I will.”

 

 

_**Year seven** _

“Dai-chan!”

Aomine had just made it past the final security gate, when a pink cloud bound up to him, and tackled him into a hug.  
“Jeez, Satsuki.”

“Welcome back, Aomine-kun,” Kuroko said, from out of nowhere.

“Uh, thanks, I guess.”  
Aomine extracted himself from his old friend's embrace and took a deep breath.  
Fuck, even the air smelled different here.  
“So did he get you a decent ring at least?” he said, and Satsuki lit up, showing him her hand and launching into a lengthy explanation of how the whole thing had gone down.

Aomine smiled down at her.  
It was weird, being back, but in a way it was inevitable.  
Two years of playing at full capacity, stretching his zone ability to the limit at every match, had taken its toll.  
He'd never liked people telling him not to play, and this team had rarely told him not to play.  
But now it seemed the injuries had finally caught up with him.He'd been happy to finally see how far he could go, to stretch his limits, but in truth, he was also, kinda, happy to be back.  
The atmosphere was different here, the food was different, the people, too

“- and so I kinda need you to be my best man,” Satsuki finished.

He blinked. He probably should have listened to that, but he sighed and nodded.  
“Alright,” he said, and he hoisted his bag over his shoulder.  
“Let's go.”

 

 

_**Year seven** _

She wore a red, low cut dress that seemed like it was poured on, and a smile that promised danger.  
To think that until now, Aomine had figured this party would be boring.

“Akashi san, won't you introduce us?" she said, coming up to their host and laying a red clawed hand on his arm.

Akashi's eyes flickered.   
It was a brief frown, not enough for anyone but those who actually knew him to see. Too bad Aomine had spent a lifetime trying to read this man.  
Just as quickly, Akashi composed himself and arranged his face into a mild smile.  
"Of course, Kobayashi-san," he said, bowing slightly "This is Aomine Daiki, the new ace for the Nishinomiya Storks basketball team. And I have no doubt that you are familiar with Kise-san here."

Kise bowed and smiled his customer smile. "Ma'am."

"Oh how cruel, Ryouta-kun," she said, flicking her hair in mock theatricality, "to call a young woman something so formal."  
She turned to Aomine and aimed that dangerous smile straight at him  
"Would you consider me a 'madam'?" she asked, brushing a single digit across his shoulder.

He let his eyes wander from her twinkling eyes, down her blood red lips and plunging neckling, to the curve of her hips. Slowly, he met her gaze, smirking.  
"I think the word we're looking for is 'goddess'," he said.  
To his side, he could just make out Kise's eye roll.

 

 

_**Year se**_ _**ven** _

"I'm so sorry."  
You sat in Sydney airport, with hundreds of other stranded passengers, and sighed into your phone.  
"Satsuki I'm so sorry. Something about the software that controls traffic control. It's been down for a full day and at this point, I can't make it anymore. I'm so sorry."

Satsuki, on the other end, sighed.  
"That's a shame, __," she said. "I would have really liked you to be here. But it's hardly your fault.”

“I really am sorry,” you repeated. “I really, really wanted to see you on your big day.”

“__-chan, I'm sure we'll make up for it,” she said mildly. “I'll miss you, but just take care of yourself, ok?”

The phone call clicked off and you whined, leaning back miserably on the uncomfortable iron bench as the airport speaker announced another delay.

 

 

_**Year seven** _

At Kuroko and Satsuki's wedding, the amount of toasts seemed endless.  
Kise had insisted on giving one, and had tearfully taken way longer than was necessary.  
Akashi was actually asked to, and he had been gracious and to the point, like some kind of professional.  
Satsuki's mom had also given a touching speech.  
And then it was Aomine's turn, and he stood up and shuffled his cheat cards.

He took a deep breath.  
"Hey," he said. "all of you."  
The gaze of the assembled guests turned to him and he felt himself falter, for just a moment.  
"I'll, uh, keep it short, seeing as how Kise already took up half an hour."

"Oy!"

There was a smattering of laughter and he scanned the crowd.  
It was a weird sort of reunion, this wedding. Two of his oldest friends were getting married, and it had brought everyone out of the woodwork.  
To his right a great deal of Touou sat at one table. Wakamatsu looking slightly uncomfortable in his suit. Imayoshi practically exuding quiet malice from behind his glasses. Sakurai being, well, Sakurai.

The full generation of friggin miracles was sitting before him, too.  
Kagami and Kise seemed oddly close, in a way that suggested more, but apparently not enough for them to make it official.  
Next to them, Murasakibara was eyeing the dessert buffet hungrily, held back by the combined efforts of Midorima and Himuro.  
It felt very familiar, all of this.

"We're here today, because two people I care a lot about, are getting hitched,” he said.  
Across the table sat his date, glittering like a disco ball, trying her best to steal whatever limelight there was.  
It wasn't working.  
Satsuki had never looked more radiant, dressed in pink and silver, like some kind of really happy piece of spun sugar.

"It's taken them a long time to get to this point," he continued. "Although Satsuki pretty much knew what she wanted at fourteen. She's smart like that."  
He smiled at her and she beamed.  
She really did. She was the happiest he'd ever seen her.  
Good, he thought.  
Lord knew she deserved it, her and Kuroko's moment in the sun with all these familiar faces.

"I'm glad she finally convinced him that it was what he wanted, too."  
Another round of laughter and Kuroko gave him a blank look.  
He grinned back.

Almost everyone was here, he noticed.  
Hyuuga from Seirin, next to Riko. That quiet one, Mitobe, and his weird cat friend.  
The annoying tall one, Kiyoshi, pun boy Izuki, even Takao, for some bizarre reason, had shown up, like he always seemed to do. A toy devil out of a box.  
Everyone, that is, except you.  
Your kind smile was oddly missing, and the absence of it stuck out like a sore thumb.  
He had hoped to at least see you here, however briefly.  
Just to see how you were doing. To know that you were happy.  
The fact that you weren't part of this felt wrong somehow. Empty.  
But so it goes.

“I've been asked to say a few things as best man, and as an old friend of the bride,” he went on. “But we all know I suck at this.”  
He paused, and there was a small shout of “Dai-chan don't swear!” before he continued.  
"So let me tell you," he said, smirking, "about double ice pops."

 

 

_**Year seven** _

Aomine lay on the roof of the gym, arms folded underneath his head. He was staring at the blue sky, letting the sun warm his bones. Occasionally, his eyes would follow the trail of a bird streaking by, or track a particularly fluffy sort of cloud, imagining shapes where there was only water vapour.  
He hadn't done this sort of thing in years, but now he found it oddly comforting again to lie here, away from everything, listening to the quiet rustling of leaves.  
He was about to fall asleep, when he suddenly became aware of a presence next to him.

“Aomine-kun.”

Aomine jumped, barely stifling a scream by turning it into a curse.  
“Motherfuck,” he muttered, sitting up. “Tetsu? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Momoi-san asked me to check up on you.”

“Jeez, Tetsu, she's your wife, do you still call her that?”

The young man stared at him with a blank expression.  
“She's worried about you,” he said.

“Yeah she does that,” Aomine huffed. “That's kinda her thing.”

Kuroko tilted his head.  
“Your fiancé has been calling her, asking about wedding venues,” he said quietly. “When you haven't really announced any plans to us.”  
He sounded, if anything, slightly hurt.

“Ah shit,” Aomine said. “She's introducing herself as that now? That's not...”

“You didn't ask her to marry you?” Kuroko said, frowning.

“I... I guess I did,” Aomine huffed. “Honestly, I'd say anything just to get her to shut up for five seconds. But now she's taken that bit and ran with it. Probably wants the full public proposal and all that bullshit, too. Big fucking over-the-top wedding and ugh.”  
He lay back and fell quiet, watching a plane fly overhead.  
He hadn't come up here to be reminded of that shit.  
“I guess I'll have to get on with it now,” he grumbled.

“Aomine-kun, I don't think you should marry someone if you don't want to,” Kuroko stated mater-of-factly.

“No shit, Tetsu.”

“I mean it,” the soft spoken man said, “you would hurt both of you.”

 

It was quiet for a while, as Aomine listened to the wind and watched bugs buzz around. He would almost forget that Kuroko was there, but then he spoke again.

“Aomine-kun. Do you love her?”

Aomine groaned.   
“Fuck Tetsu, what kind of question is that?”  
His friend said nothing, and looked at the clouds going by, wind ruffling his hair a little.  
“I fucked up the only love I ever had ages ago,” Aomine sighed. “I'm probably a total loss.”  
Kuroko nodded quietly  
“You're not supposed to agree with that!” Aomine growled.

“It is true that __-san was hurt for a while,” Kuroko shrugged “Though I believe she's ok now.”

“How would you know?” Aomine sat up on his elbows, squinting at his friend.

“She is still friends with Momoi-san, even if she's not talking to you, Aomine-kun. They had coffee just the other day.”

“Wait, she's back in the country?”  
Kuroko just stared at him and Aomine could swear there was a ghost of a knowing smirk on his face.  
“Not that it matters,” he added hastily.

“She couldn't make our wedding because her flight was cancelled,” Kuroko said, “but her contract in Australia ended some weeks ago. She's been back here, looking for work.”

“Huh,” Aomine said, eyes glazing over slightly as he wondered what you'd look like now.   
Was your hair longer? He'd always liked the feel of it, the softness in the way they fell, the light smell of your shampoo that could linger for hours. Maybe you'd cut it short to look more professional, leaving all that open space around your neck.  
Had you bought a new dress for Satsuki's wedding? It was probably a good thing you weren't there, he thought, because god, you in evening wear. Knowing you, it'd be some silk number that fell around your curves like water, in a colour that made your eyes light up like gemstones, but muted enough to let the bride shine. You were secure enough, and caring enough, to not be the centre of attention on a day like that. You'd never be gaudy like….  
Well shit.  
Feeling slightly self conscious, Aomine glanced at Kuroko, who was pointedly not looking at him, but seemed to find a higher meaning in the clouds passing by.  
Aomine sighed.  
There wasn't going to be a wedding any time soon.

 

 

_**Year eight** _

"You really need someone more specialized than this, Aomine-kun", Midorima said, looking at the X-ray.

"We tried," the assistant-coach muttered apologetically, “but it's hard to find someone Aomine-kun can work with.”

Midorima raised an eyebrow.  
"They treat me like i'm an idiot,” Aomine grumped.

"Which you are,” the assistant-coach provided helpfully.

"You can't just tell me to do boring exercises and rest and not play," Aomine pointed out.

Midorima sighed and pushed up his glasses.  
"Aomine-kun. Looking at your file, and this X-ray, I fear you have a choice to make. Do you want to play in the next few matches, or do you want to continue playing for years to come? Because at this point, you will ruin your shoulder for good."

Aomine rolled his eyes. He'd heard this one from pretty much everyone they went to see.  
"Just fix me, Midorima," he said.

"I'm afraid I cannot do that,” Midorima said. “What you need is sustained therapy, and much as I would like to clear my work schedule to make room for you… I'm not a sports doctor."

 

It was quiet for a moment, as Aomine looked at the floor.

"I know of someone who could 'fix" you, as you say," Midorima said slowly. "But considering you haven't gone there yet, I'm assuming this is… an issue."

The assistant-coach looked up. "What?"

"Miss __. She's practising in Kyoto right now, filling in temporarily for a pregnant woman, I believe."

“Who the heck is that?” the assistant-coach asked, looking between the doctor and his patient, face contorted in confusion.

Midorima gave Aomine a pointed look, but he ignored it, staring at the floor in silence.  
“She is a physical therapist of some renown,” Midorima finally said. “She comes well regarded, spent some time with the Olympic swim team in Australia. I've heard good things about her work, but mostly, I would suggest her because few therapists are as… acquainted with Aomine's play history and his, let's say, attitude. I'm surprised Momoi-san hasn't suggested it yet.”

“She has,” Aomine sighed. “It's a bad idea.”

“I see,” Midorima said, and he adjusted the small medallion compass around his neck, something so stupid looking that it had to be today's lucky item.  
“That is a shame indeed,” he muttered.

“Look, she has a ton of work, probably, we don't need to go barge in there,” Aomine said. “I'll just fucking play until the final and then rest. It'll be fine.”

“I must really ask you not to do that,” Midorima said.

“Look, if she's as good as the doctor says she is, I'm pretty sure the team will pay for the overtime,” the assistant-coach interrupted, “we need the use of our ace as fast and safely as possible. If this person can arrange that, then I don't see why-”

"She's my ex, ok," Aomine grunted.  
He wasn't sure if he was able to deal with you just yet.

 

 

_**Year eight** _

In the end, Aomine didn't get much of a say in it, as usual.

“Thanks for seeing us at such short notice, __-san,” the assistant-coach said, bowing deeply as he stood in the doorway to your practice.

“Oh, it's no trouble, really,” you responded.

That was a lie, Aomine thought.   
It was eight-thirty in the evening and your last legitimate patient had only just gone home.  
You were overdoing it, taking in extra patients just because they asked nicely.

But still, here he stood, lingering in the hallway as your voice assured his assistant-coach that he wasn't bothering you at all, that you were happy for the opportunity, and it was the _exact same voice_ as he remembered, including the soft, warm undertones and the slight inflection that always showed up when you were a little nervous.  
Aomine closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath through his nose.

“Are you coming or not?” the assistant-coach said, waving him over.

Grumbling, hands deep in his pockets, he walked through the door of your office.  
Your hair really was shorter, just a little. And it was odd that this was the first thing Aomine noticed.  
You'd pinned it up, making you look older, a little sterner, perhaps.  
Professional. That was probably what you were going for.  
Same with the scrubs, which weren't exactly flattering, but somehow, they suited you.

He gave himself one brief look at your face, just long enough to see a flash of startled familiarity, a glimmer of something raw and bleeding, before you folded up like a flower and hid all of it behind your new professional face.  
“Hey,” he said, averting his eyes.

“Hello, Aomine-san,” you said, not missing a beat. “Please take a seat.”

 

 

_**Year eight** _

“Well, the good news is that it looks like you can recuperate from this,” you said, washing your hands.  
You returned to your desk and looked over the chart again. “If you rest well, any lasting damage could be kept to a minimum.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” the assistant-coach said. “Do you believe he'll be able to play matches? It's... you see we're heading towards finals and our second power forward is in hospital with a broken leg.”

You sighed. “I wouldn't advise it, not without sustained therapy. But he would be able to do it if he doesn't overextend himself. Who are you playing at the end of the week?”

“Fukuoka,” Aomine said, looking at the ground.

You tilted your head.  
“Isn't that Murasakibara's team?”

“Yes,” he pouted.

With a sigh, you dropped the chart.  
“Then telling you to take it easy is useless, isn't it?”

He shrugged. “Probably.”

 

Aomine was looking at the ground, a light dusting of pink on his cheeks.  
He'd been avoiding your gaze all through the session.  
Honestly, that was probably a good thing, cause one flash of those dark blue eyes had been enough to send your insides on a wild rollercoaster race.  
But damn, he had always been cute when he was embarrassed like that. And he still was.

He was also, you had quickly come to realize, still a complete idiot, and he was going to ruin his shoulder, and his career, if you didn't stop him.  
You took a deep breath and clapped your hands together.  
“Alright, change of plans,” you said brightly.  
The assistant-coach blinked at you.  
“If the head coach allows it, come in for a session every night for the rest of the week. My calendar is fully booked, but I can pencil you in in the evening. Consider it favour for an old friend.”

Aomine looked up, deep blue eyes staring straight at you.  
Down the rollercoaster went, as all your emotions flared up at once, lifting their hands in the air and screaming their heads off.

 

 

_**Year eight** _

“Hold out your arm.”  
It was the next day and you placed Aomine's hand on your shoulder, your fingers sliding up his biceps to find the knots.  
He hissed, briefly, when you started kneading, but that was the only sound he made.  
No perverted moans, no snorts. No nothing.  
He sat, watching the muted tv in the corner, while the assistant-coach took a nap on a nearby chair.  
It was almost like he was shy, which felt very weird indeed.  
It also gave this whole session the air of a funeral.  
“So,” you said gently, “Satsuki tells me Kise-kun improvised a speech.”

Aomine huffed.  
“Yeah, you missed that, didn't you?”

“I'm afraid I only heard it from horrified hearsay,” you smiled.

“Well let me tell ya, he made a complete ass of himself, just because he wanted to impress his not-official-yet boyfriend,” Aomine said, and he launched into a story of the evening.

 

 

_**Year eight** _

“Alright, good work.”  
A week later, you washed your hands and smiled at your patient, tired but happy with the progress you were making.  
The match with Murasakibara had passed, and Aomine still had full control of his limbs.  
Miracles really did happen.  
The assistant-coach, pleased with the results, had extended your visits for another week, and was currently out front, filling in extra paperwork.  
It left you alone with a man who, after a full week of slowly opening up, was at least treating you like a normal human being again, though he still wasn't quite ready to look you in the eye.  
Instead, he grabbed your hand as you passed.

“I'm sorry.”

You froze, halfway to your desk.  
“For what?” you whispered, standing stock still while next to you, the muted tv showed the grisly murder victim for that night's true crime drama.

“I'm sorry,” Aomine said, “For everything.”   
The man you'd spent so long loving, and so long hating, sat on your treatment table, staring fixedly at the ground, while his thumb rubbed circles on the back of your hand.  
“I fucked up, ok. I'm sorry.”

His hand was burning your skin, you were certain, branding it with every swipe of his calloused thumb.  
Somewhere inside of you, it felt like a dam was about to burst, like everything you'd kept closely locked up for the past week was threatening spill out all at once, washing over villages and drowning entire towns.  
“Aomine-kun...”  
You made a valiant attempt at talking through the lump in your throat.  
“I-”

“Alright, ready to go?” the assistant-coach popped his head through the doorway, oblivious.

“Uh. Sure,” Aomine hummed, and he hopped off the table.

 

 

_**Year eight** _

The next few days went off without a hitch, with the assistant-coach chattering about the weather and basketball with you, while Aomine looked at the ground and mostly stayed quiet as you worked on his shoulder, getting it as close to healed as possible even, even as the dam inside of you kept filling higher and higher, waves crashing against the walls.

 

When the final day of consultation arrived, you'd decided for yourself that you'd forgive him.  
You owed him that much, and it was the adult thing to do.  
He'd said he was sorry, so you would do the same. You'd both get some closure and move on.  
You'd wait for the assistant-coach to go out to finish his paperwork, and then you'd have a quick conversation and be done with it.  
This was totally something you could do.  
So that was the plan, you decided.

Until you opened the door to the waiting room and found your last patient of the day sitting there.  
Alone.  
He shrugged when you lifted your eyebrow at him.  
“Assistant-coach was busy,” he said, and he quietly slipped by you to sit on the treatment table.

He stayed silent for the rest of the session, only occasionally glancing at you, while inside of you, cracks started to form in the dam wall.

 

You finally finished the session and washed your hands, resisting the urge to shove your whole head under the tap.  
When you walked back by him, keeping your hands firmly in your pockets, he called out your name.

“__”  
He said it quite softly, his deep, raspy voice making it sound more like a sigh.  
You stopped and turned to him.  
“I miss you,” he said.

For a moment, it took away your breath.  
“Please don't do that,” you stammered.

He finally looked up, blue eyes piercing your skin.  
“I miss you,” he said again.   
He almost whispered it, eyes hazy as they looked at you, digging for an answer.

You were fairly certain you could actually feel it break. Two weeks of keeping yourself together, building up your defenses, shattered in a single sentence.  
“You can't just...”  
Your voice was hoarse, and it startled you as it came out, because it sounded like a sob.  
“Do you know how long it took me to get over you?” you said. “Why would you even-”  
There were tears now. You felt them rolling over your cheeks and desperately wiped at them while you took big gulps of air to try and stop, to keep whatever semblance of dignity you had left.

He reached out and took your hand.

“I'm sorry,” he said again, his eyes never leaving you while you buried your face in your sleeve, trying to look anywhere but at the man who had your heart in a vice grip.  
Gently, he tugged on your hand, pulling you between his legs and snaking long arms around your shoulders. He sat there, holding you and softly carding fingers through your hair while you sobbed into his chest.  
He waited for your breath to quieten and then leaned over to whisper in your ear.  
“Take me back.”

You took a shuddering breath.  
This wasn't fair, you thought. This was so unfair.  
What you said was: “You can't just ask me to do that.”

“I'm sorry,” he said again.

“You're NOT.”

He chuckled softly.  
“I am, though. I did some really stupid shit and I should never have hurt you like that.”

You sighed into his chest, knowing full well that you should struggle and knowing, just as well, that if you did, he'd let you go.  
So you didn't.  
“But it wasn't just...” you tried. “We can't just... It didn't work anymore. You can't just expect us to magically reset and everything will be back to normal. We'll run into the same issues.”

“I dunno, I like to imagine I'm less of an idiot now,” he hummed, making you snort.  
He sighed and leaned back, tilting your head up with one finger so he could look at you.  
“It didn't work, because we both had things we needed to do, you know,” he said lowly. “We needed to get that stuff out of our system.”

“What,” you huffed. “You went and followed your dreams and now that that's over you're ready to go back to the old stuff?”

“And you did your thing in Australia, and now you're back too,” he shrugged.  
You pouted at him.  
“Listen,” he said, and his eyes trailed off again, embarrassed. “What I'm saying is, I calmed down a lot and I know what I like and I know what I lost and... well.”  
He sighed and looked at the ground.  
“If you'd be willing to try again I'd, ya know, I'll do my very best to make you happy. And I'll win... at it.”

“You'll rock my world?” you said, spilling tears even as you giggled.

His hand came up to cradle your cheek, a long thumb wiping away the salt.  
“I will,” he said softly. “Just watch me.”

You sniffed, biting your lip, as long fingers brushed the hair from your face.  
And despite yourself, despite everything the logical part of your mind told you, you leaned forward.

 

His lips touched yours and it was like the last few years didn't happen.  
His tongue felt familiar, his arms safe. His hands knew exactly where to go to tug at your senses.  
You'd both changed so much but this, this felt like home. It felt like finding your favourite old sweater in the back of the closet, patching up the holes and slipping back into it.  
It fit.

 

 

_**Year eight** _

Aomine lay in bed and listened to you breathe.   
You were dozing in his arms, the soft rise and fall of your shoulders pressing against his chest.  
He leaned over and nuzzled your hair, messy and fluffed up from where you'd lain.  
With a small smile, he placed a kiss there.

“Mmm?”  
Whining softly, you stirred and your eyes fluttered open.

 

You glanced at the clock.  
“Oh man, my last train back is in fifteen minutes,” you said.  
You stretched and rolled over to look up into the grinning face of the man who held your heart in a vice grip. Who had held it, since the moment you walked into that library.

He leaned in casually and placed a kiss on your forehead.  
“Stay?” he said, “You're never gonna make that train.”

You pouted and rolled again, your back sinking comfortably against his chest.   
Without a word, he curled himself around you and you slowly settled in the warmth of his embrace.  
You closed your eyes and mimicked the rate of his breath to yours, listening to the slowing drum of his heart as the both of you drifted off into sleep.  
And just like that, you were home again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Sometimes love takes a while._  
_Your parents like to tell the story of how theirs was instant. A look, a smile and suddenly they're married with two kids and a house in the suburbs._  
_But if their love had been a highway, yours was a mountain path, long, winding and at times lost in the mists of pine forests._  
_But the view from the top? It's amazing._

_His eyes are closed, breath soft and calm. You adjust the blanket on your shoulders and gently trace the tips of your fingers through the mess of dark hair in your lap._  
_There's a few greying strands in there, but not enough for you to lose count._  
_In the same way, you can still keep track of the thin lines in his face, the small wrinkles appearing after years of moving with such speed and grace._  
_There's a small frown, a brief twitch of his eyebrows when he becomes aware of the touch, before he relaxes into it._  
_This is your mountain, and you can't suppress a smile at having walked the long path to the top._

_With a sigh and a grunt, the man in your lap opens his eyes, deep blue irises blinking up at you._  
_“See anything you like, babe?” he grins._

_You smile and lean down to place a kiss in that mess of hair.  
“Just admiring the view.” _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was very, very indulgent, and I'm sorry (not really sorry).  
> I hope you enjoyed it. Please do let me know what you think.


End file.
